EREV ROSH HASHANAH 2016

The first blast of the shofar was on Labor, the 2nd of Elul. As I blew the set of notes for a bat mitzvah ceremony, I realized that for me, they were not the normal attention call. I was wide awake. I had been awake all summer, in fact all year. And the din that I was hearing was a mix of the English din of noise and the Hebrew din of judgment.

With the first blast of the shofar, Tekiah, I was reminded that the holiday season arrives whether we are ready or not, or as is the title of Rabbi Alan Lew’s book, This Is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared. You see, the holiday season is not as most people think 2 days or 3 days or even the entire ten days from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur known as Yomim Nori’im. It is actually 40 days, from the beginning of Elul, the month prior to Rosh HaShanah through Yom Kippur. Even then, the season doesn’t end for we have Sukkot, Shimini Atzeret and Simchat Torah in quick succession. But the point is, we have an entire month to prepare ourselves for the month to follow, to redress wrongs, to ask for forgiveness. We have the month for introspection, to look back on the year and see where we have fallen short. What expectations did we have that we didn’t meet? Where did we fail and how? And why? Did we not put in the effort or was the opportunity overlooked? How do we change the visions that we laid out as the year progressed? Did we give up too easily when we encountered an obstacle?

It was 15 years ago when I first came to this community, one week after 9/11. There was no din amongst the American people then. Having driven across the country, I remember that there was only a sense of unity, of oneness. This was as close as I can remember this country approaching indivisible.

9/11, more than any day, has become an American day of observance. While Memorial Day, Labor Day, the 4th of July and Thanksgiving have turned into joyous celebrations, on 9/11 we have begun to have holy gatherings. But how long will that last? Already there are those who don’t recognize the role of top players: first responders, rescuers, fellow workers; those who deny what was done altogether, ‘the conspiracy theorists’, and those who fight against providing these true, real life heroes with even the dignity of medical care.

Then there are those who don’t seem to understand the significance of the date. I have a group of 6th and 7th graders who have a program once a month after class to do community service. They were asked to write thank you cards to New York fire fighters and police on the first day of their meeting this year as that Sunday happened to fall on 9/11. When I asked the follow Sunday what it meant to them, they said, ‘nothing’. They did it because they were told to. They had no feeling for 9/11 and some did not even know what it referenced. Are we living in a time where everything passes so quickly that we can’t take a moment to remember those who have died, those who are suffering because of a tragedy and those who are making a difference in our world because of events that changed theirs? Have we lost the story so soon?

I’m not looking for the country wide silent moments such as those observed in Israel for Yom HaZikaron, the Day of Remembrance, just a simple recognition of one humanity. I suppose it is not so simple. I wonder is it possible? Will it ever be?

What will happen to this point in time that was seems so prominent in our lives? An event which turned the course of our country’s basic philosophy regarding civil liberty and altered our march toward human rights acceptance. When will it be rolled into all other days of remembrance, lost in significance like Pearl Harbor Day or VJ Day?

Speaking of which – did you all see that Greta Friedman died in September? She was 92. Who was Greta? The woman in the famous picture that represented the end of WWII, the kiss between sailor, George Mendonsa, and a nurse, Greta.

Even these iconic images are becoming relics. As our culture changes, we take offense at old ways of viewing things. Rather than appreciating them for what they were within their context, we denigrate and deplore what they seem to represent now. George, a half drunk sailor, according to his own recollection, at the end of a war, in pure elation desired to share it, with the first pretty stranger he encountered. Would that picture now be viewed as a sexual assault?

This tendency to outdate, to view as passé, even offensive, happens also with our prayers. Therefore have we added new prayers, new melodies, new words to old prayers and new translations to old words. Often we recite words but do know what we are saying. For the most part, does it matter? No. But here’s what does matter. That our minds and hearts are directed toward the prayers. That we allow the words and melodies to move us, to move through us so that we connect to something beyond ourselves. That we are spending the time not thinking about our next text message or who’s winning the football game, but that we spend it thinking about who’s winning our soul.

On Erev Rosh Hashanah (the first night of Selichot) over one hundred years ago, instead of going to the large Shul to signal the beginning of the prayers, the rebbe, Rabbi Shalom of Belz, ordered his attendant to harness the horses. He said they would be going into the forest.

The astonished attendant wanted to remind the Rebbe that thousands of chassidim were waiting in the Shul, but he knew better than to ask questions and went out to prepare the wagon. After a half hour drive the Rebbe signaled him to stop. They alighted and walked down a narrow path till they saw a small hut in the distance. The Rebbe signaled the attendant to wait for him, and then tiptoed alone up to the window and peeked in.

An old Jewish man was sitting alone at a table. On the table was a bottle of vodka and two small cups, one in front of him and the other before the empty seat opposite him.

Through the window the Rebbe couldn’t hear what the old man was saying, but he saw him raise his cup in a toast, drink it, and then drink the second cup as well. This he repeated two more times, after which the Rebbe tiptoed back to the attendant. They walked quickly to the wagon and the Rebbe motioned him to drive back to Belz.

Meanwhile the chassidim had been waiting for over an hour and were becoming worried. But when the doors of the Synagogue opened and the Rebbe entered, the congregation fell silent. All eyes followed him to his place at the front of the Shul, and then the room burst into prayer.

When services ended the Rebbe turned to his attendant and said, "There is an old man that came in after everyone and I’m sure he will finish after everyone also. He’s the one I saw in the house in the woods. Please wait for him to finish, and then tell him I want him to come to my study where I will speak to him privately."

Half an hour later the simple Jew was standing in fear before the Holy Rebbe.

"Sit down, Isaac," said the Rebbe, indicating a chair. "I want you to tell me what you did in your house before you came here tonight. What were those two cups of vodka for and what was that strange l’chayim you made?"

"The Rebbe knows that?" he exclaimed, his eyes bulging in amazement. Then he started to shake. "How does the Rebbe know?"

"I sensed that something important was going to happen," the Rebbe answered, "so I drove to the woods and peeked in your window. But I want to understand the meaning behind what you were doing."

"The Rebbe peeked in my window? The Rebbe peeked in my window? How could it be? I am a nothing!"

Now the poor chassid was really confused. He was silent for a moment. Then, realizing that there was no alternative, he sank down onto the chair and began to explain.

"I’m a poor man, Rebbe, I have no children and my wife passed on years ago. I live alone with just a few farm animals. That is, until a few months ago when my cow became sick. I prayed to G‑d to heal the cow. ‘After all’, I said to G‑d, ‘You create the entire world and everything in it; certainly you can heal one cow!’

"But the cow got worse. So I said ‘Listen G‑d, if You don’t heal that cow I’m not going to shul any more!’ I figured that if G‑d doesn’t care about me—I mean, it’s nothing for Him to heal one old cow—so why should I care about His place?

"But the cow died anyway. I got mad and … and… I stopped going to synagogue.

"But then my goat got sick! I said to G‑d, ‘What! You haven’t had enough? Do you think I’m bluffing? Listen, if this goat dies I’m not putting on tefillin any more!’ But the goat died and so I stopped putting on tefillin.

"Next, my chickens got ill. I told G‑d that if they die I’m not going to recite Kiddush or keep Shabbos. Well, a week later I was without chickens and G‑d was without my Shabbos.

"I held out for weeks until suddenly I realized that the holidays were approaching. I thought to myself, ‘What, Isaac, you aren’t going to go say Gut Yuntif to the Rebbe? What, are you nuts?’ But on the other hand I was angry with G‑d and had vowed I wasn’t going to the shul. So I held out.

"But then I remembered that once I had an argument with Shmuel the butcher. For about a month we didn’t even say hello. Then one night he came to my house with a bottle of vodka and said, ‘Let’s forget the past and be friends, enough enemies outside the community; why be enemies.’ So we made three l’chayims, shook hands and even danced around a little together. Baruch Hashem, we were friends again.

"So I figured I would do the same thing with G‑d. After all, Rebbe, we are told that on these days, we are forgiven - if we atone for the sins against God - as these are the only ones for which God can forgive us. So, I invited God to sit opposite me, poured us two cups and said, ‘Listen, G‑d, you forget my faults and I’ll forget yours. All right? A deal?’ L'chayim!

"So I drank my cup and understood that since G‑d doesn’t drink, He probably wanted me to drink His. And after we did it twice more I stood up and we danced together! Then I felt better and came to shul."

The Rebbe looked deeply into Isaac’s innocent eyes. In a serious tone, he said, "Listen to me, Isaac. Before we began, I saw that in heaven there was a terrible decree on our holy congregation, because the chassidim were saying the words in the prayer book but they weren’t really praying seriously to G-d. Of course, there are a lot of distractions and other excuses; nevertheless this terrible decree was looming.

"But you, Isaac, in your sincerity have saved the entire congregation! For you, Isaac, you talked to G‑d like He is your friend.”

O God,Let me be willing to be a true friend,To walk along Without always knowing the destinationLet me have enough faith in Your presenceTo know that letting go is not giving upSurrender is not annihilationO God,Help me move through the arid dessert ofLoneliness and fearToward Your creatures, Your creationToward Your outstretched arm of freedom,Your protecting wing of peace. ------

May we each find our way to draw near to our friends on earth and in Heaven and bring healing into our lives and the world. AMEN[1]http://www.kabbalaonline.org/kabbalah/article_cdo/aid/2299022/jewish/Through-the-Window.htm